Friday, February 16, 2007

A letter written in perfumed stationery was posted on a local police precinct bulletin board, and reads:

Dearest SPO3 N. Santiliano,

Though this letter may come as very surprising and embarrassing to you, but please know that I’m only grabbing the last opportunity that’s left for me in this world to let you know how much I feel for you. Before ill walk the dark aisle that leads to death’s chamber tomorrow, I’ll utter for the first time the words that I feared that someday ill say. “I love you” and I guess ill carve my feelings for you on the headstone of my grave.

I remembered the first time that our paths met clearly, that it seems forever etched in my mind. It started on a typical Monday morning, when after a few shots rang out, you and your partner were abruptly chasing me on the gutters of Avenue 21 after I punched a couple of holes on that little old lady who refused to hand me her purse.

I ran as fast as I could to get away from you, but when I turned around and saw you chasing me I was stunned, it’s as if I got lost in the moment and I could not move. How I loved seeing your kinky hair that came to me like shining spirals in the pale-yellow light of the morning; and seeing the shadow of your silhouette approaching me in a fast pace; yes I couldn’t run.

How I loved the scent of your perfume and the way you grabbed me with ease and precision. The part that almost melted me into a drool was when you handcuffed me, yes our eyes met in a daze.

Since that fateful moment, I was never the same again. It melted the street-hardened heart that was in me and it seems like the everyday hardships that I had to endure in this rusted prison cell came to me like a scout on camp for an evening with marshmallows roasting on a bonfire.

Yes, I love you Nilo, even if it takes the dignity that’s in me, for you mean and will always be my world. Sadly I bid to you my heart this evening as soon as the prison chaplain arrives and let everyone be the witness of my undying love before I heed death’s calling for the wrong that I have committed.

Just grant me the very last of my wishes, and ill be the happiest one to enter the dreaded chamber come dawn’s first rays of light.

1 comment:

Add This

Messages trapped in the bottle's shapely demise

The Bottle

Inside the bottle are words that run on without corners. Hanging down the neck are tragedies within a parade, reminiscent pages of love and mush, dysfunction and the mind's travels, realms of music, the joys of entertainment, distortion of politics and government, and the building blocks of science, mixed together but all trapped in a picturesque shape...